Gone Fishing
by TheBetterPoison
Summary: Having a little date at the lake, Sam decides to teach Mercedes how to fish. There's a good chance I won't add to this, but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless! Reviews are always appreciated! Friendly, fluffy one-shot.


"I knew I should've opted on a skirt today," Mercedes thought aloud while miserably fanning her face. She and Sam had met up near their usual spot along the southernmost end of the lake.

Sam was on his knees a few feet in front of her, rifling through a bright yellow tackle box. He looked up to ask, "Why? Not that I'd be opposed to it."

She matched his sly smirk but blatantly told him, "It's too damn hot out here! Ugh."

"It's just because you're not doing anything yet. You just got here. Look, I borrowed this stuff from my dad for us. Trust me, once we get started you'll forget about the heat."

Mercedes stopped fanning herself for a moment to fold her arms suspiciously over her chest. "You never did tell me on the phone what we were gonna do today. I didn't bring my swimsuit this time."

Sam paused, looking up at her again, only this time he was uncertain if he should take her curiosity seriously or not. His green eyes made pointed gazes to his tackle box and the two poles at her feet. "You really haven't been fishing before, have you?"

"Fishing?" Mercedes squinted and leaned forward to get a better look at his tackle box. She saw the neon-colored worms, the hooks, bobbers, and the small white container with the word "NIGHTCRAWLERS" printed on the lid. Right away, she cringed and backed up several steps, "Oh hell no—you have actual _worms _in there?"

Sam rose to his full height, entertained by her reaction. "Yeah? I don't think there's anything serious enough in the lake for fake bait. Plus you don't know how to use the stuff, so we're using nightcrawlers."

"Uh-uh! _We_ aren't using anything!" protested the visibly disgusted diva.

Sam rolled his eyes, "Come on. You can't tell me you're scared of a worm. They're harmless!"

"They're gross!"

With one step over the fishing gear, he held a hand out to Mercedes and asked, "Will you give it a try for me? You might like it." When she accepted his hand, he smiled and brought her back to the gear, "Come on, I'll even bait your line for you."

"I was hoping we were gonna have a picnic," Mercedes feebly whined. She looked down at her clothes—denim capris, a pale red ruched tube top and red-strapped cork wedges; although she had never fished before, she knew that this was _not_ an outfit to fish in. Sam however, looked ready for anything they were going to do. He always did; blue jeans and a grey, form-fitting V-neck with the Batman signal on the chest.

Sam knelt back down at the tackle box to find a couple of good hooks. "Oh we are. I brought some food in my backpack. But we're going to fish first."

After a fleeting glance at the bulging backpack behind him, Mercedes puckered her lips and placed her hands on her hips. She figured if Sam believed she could do this, it couldn't hurt to at least try.

As Sam began explaining how to properly knot a hook onto the fishing line, Mercedes set her purse down and sat in front of him to listen. She did her best to focus, but her attention kept being drawn back to the Nightcrawlers container. In no time however, Sam had the two poles prepared with hooks, weights and bobbers. He stood up again and helped Mercedes to her feet and then handed her a pole.

"Alright, the moment of truth," he declared while bending down to pick up the dreaded white container. He was all too prepared to pull the lid off but his fingertips hesitated on the lid as he looked back up at Mercedes.

She was cringing again, bearing down as if a leech was going to spring at her face, the moment the lid came off. Sam puckered his lips and bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling, but his quivering chest and shoulders gave him away.

"It's not funny, Sam!"

"Yes it is!" he argued in between laughs. "I've never seen you act like this before."

Mercedes blushed, despite herself. She didn't want to smile either, but seeing Sam laugh so much—even if it was at her expense—made the corners of her mouth twitch.

"Look," he said, calming down from his hysterics, "all you have to do is hold onto the grip below the reel. I'll put the worm on for you, like I said, and then you'll be ready to cast out. Okay?"

"…Alright, I can handle that."Her grasp lowered where he instructed her to hold it, but she nearly dropped the pole at the sight of the worm Sam yanked out of the dirt-riddled container. It writhed and squirmed—even hooked one of its ends around Sam's thumb until he ripped the thing in two.

"Ew! Was that necessary?"

With a chuckle, Sam said, "Yeah, unless you wanna lose all your bait in five seconds." After tossing the rest of the worm back into the container, Sam took hold of her hook and slipped it on. Mercedes deliberately looked out at the lake until he told her she was ready for casting.

"What about your pole?" she asked while carrying hers dutifully closer to the shore.

Sam joined her while explaining, "I'll get mine together after I show you how to cast."

He stood—being more than a head taller—directly behind Mercedes. Emanating from her roots was the scent of her strawberry shampoo, wafting up into his nostrils. Sam smiled at the pleasantly scent that privately grew to be one of his favorite things about the curvy diva. Suppressing his anxiousness with confidence, his arms came around her to overlap her limbs. He looked down to watch her while he said, "Alright, you see that skinny metal piece? That's called the bail arm…"

Mercedes was having her own private thoughts, taking in the smell of Sam's Irish Spring body wash. Whenever she saw him early in the day, he would smell like this. One time she inadvertently asked him what it was, and he simply told her it was Irish Spring body wash. On a date that followed that conversation, he had left her with one of his hoodies. When she tried returning it, he told her to hang onto it for a while. Now she had to work incredibly hard to focus on his instructions because the aroma always smelled better when it came directly from Sam, rather than his clothes.

"Mercedes?"

She shook her head, "Huh? What?"

Sam chuckled, "I said, 'Did you get all that?' I can break it down again if you like?"

"Oh, um…n-no, no I think I got it."

"Okay. Here we go. Remember, keep your finger over the line while you're drawing back, then let go as soon as you cast. Otherwise your hook and everything's just gonna stay in the air."

She nodded, not being aware of anything he instructed. Luckily his arms were still comfortably around her, guiding her pole back over their shoulders. All she had to do was lift her finger at the right time. The unexpected amount of force Sam put behind casting out startled her enough to let go of the line at the right time. With shock and fascination, she watched the hooked end of the line go whizzing through the air until it plopped out in the lake, several yards away.

"Good job," complimented Sam.

She rolled her eyes but smiled at him, "You did most of the work."

"You still did good. Neither of us got hooked in the eye."

Mercedes' brows came together instantly. "…Has that happened?"

"Not to me, thankfully. But yeah one of my dad's friends did that a long time ago. It was really gross…" His mind started drifting but before he could get caught up with retelling the events, he caught Mercedes' horrified expression and abruptly cleared his throat. "His spool was tangled before he cast out though, so he was kinda screwed from the get-go. Now my dad always reminds me to check the line before I even set up my hook."

His last couple of sentences seemed to ease Mercedes a bit but a small part of him felt bad for scaring her so he tried distracting her from it. Trying out one of his impressions on her, he intentionally rasped his voice to channel George W. Bush, "So what yer gonna wanna do is keep your pretty lil eyes on that there bobber. When ya see it dancin' around in the water, you got'cherself a nibbler."

Mercedes nearly doubled over in a fit of laughter which was only marginally subdued when Sam normally reminded her, "Oh and don't forget to close the bail. Otherwise you'll tangle your line when you try to reel in your catch."

"Yes sir, Mr. President," she giggled. As he lowered his arms from around her, Mercedes rose to her toes and pecked a kiss to his chin.

Sam blushed and out of the corner of his mouth he gave her a little more George Bush by saying, "Thank ya darlin'."

He returned to get his own pole set up, and Mercedes closed the bail and kept her eyes on the red and white bobber. She smiled while Sam's voice impression echoed in her mind. But her amazement, the bobber started twitching only seconds later. Uncertain of what else to do, she called out to Sam. "Hey, my bobber-ma-thingy's moving!"

"Already?" Sam answered. He walked over with his own pole in hand and appraised the scene. While setting his pole by his feet, he told her, "Yep, something out there's interested in your worm."

Her face soured at the thought of the worm again, but she made herself attentive to Sam's instructions.

"If the bobber goes underwater, and stays under…slowly start reeling it in. If you go too fast, it might get away."

Mercedes nodded and as she did, the red and white plastic piece submerged. "Ooo!" she exclaimed. Her hand flew to the handle; she started twirling it counterclockwise and Sam neared her just a bit.

"I think you might've just caught your first fish," he told her with a growing smile.

"Aww yeah," cheered Mercedes. She then mused, "I wonder what kind it is."

Sam shrugged, "I dunno. I've fished out here before but I didn't get anything exciting—bass mostly. I'd have to see the fish to know what kind it is though."

Finally, the bobber emerged from the water, and shortly after a fish came flopping onto the bank. It donned greenish brown scales with a white belly and a distinct pink stripe running down its middle. Gripping the pole tightly, Mercedes scooted back several steps, feeling both excited and nervous about the baited creature. Her smile grew and she let out a small squeak of joy. "I did it!"

"You did," Sam confirmed, having significantly less excitement than her.

Mercedes picked up on it right away and raised a brow. "What's wrong? I thought you'd be happy for me!"

He bent to grab the fish with one hand while his other hand worked to retrieve the hook from its mouth. "No, it's not that…I'm glad you caught your first fish today."

"Then why do you look mad?"

Sam pursed his lips and shook his head, "I'm not mad, just—you know how you were wondering what kind of fish it is?"

Mercedes nodded, confused as to what this had to do with her new experience.

Finally getting it free of the hook, Sam held the fish up—a firm grip around its upper and lower fins. His cheeks turned a faint shade of red when he admitted, "It's a trout."


End file.
